Tenement Dust
by booklover611
Summary: Patrick Magee seems like your your basic Newsie. For the last two years he's been hustling papers in Manhattan (and trying to raise his sixteen year old sister) after running away from an abusive drunk step father and a mother who chose a man over her own children. Follow Patrick as he falls in love with a plain faced Italian immigrant girl and runs into the demons of his past.R&R!
1. Chapter 1

**Hi everybody so haven't started this story yet but thought I would give u just a brief overview. Does anyone here remember Patrick, the kid who gets like apoxmentily five seconds of screen time during carrying the banner while his mother pleads for him to come home in a high melodic opera style voice? While I don't know about you but I've always wanted to know what was the deal with him. Like does he come home, why did he runaway from home and why doesn't his Mom just grab him and drag him back to the Irish section of hells kitchen where he belongs. Anyways I thought I'd try a fanfic about this because Newsies is by far my favourite movie. While you're waiting try out my oliver twist fanfic (under books not movies) called little criminals? **

**Thanks and hope to write soon.**

**S :) **


	2. Chapter 2

September 2 1901

It was funny how a persons past could somehow creep into their future. How you could fight and fight to forget but somehow it always caught up with you. It had been three years since he had left home, leaving the life of a drunken escuse for father and the so called mother who claimed to love him. He had tried to start a new, selling papes on any street corner of Manhattan, working himself to the bone for a few lousy pennies. But he could only run for so long and now three days to the date of his departure it had all caught up to him. He only wished that he hadn't dragged her down with him.


	3. Chapter 3

February 2 1900

Cold air nipped at Patrick Magee's chest sending a shiver from his neck to his toes. He always hated the winter in New York, the cold weather, general miserable mood and snow covering every spec of cobblestone. It was bad enough selling papes for nine hours straight on a regular day but with the added frigid cold and snow flurries it was near hell.

"Extra extra read all about it, Brooklyn baby born with two heads!"

Truth be told that was a bald faced lie but the _World _ wasn't pushing anything interesting today and considering this was his last paper and it was nearing seven o'clock he was willing to do anything to get back home.

Sure enough a man approached him picking up his last paper then tossing a nickel in his direction. Feeling a grin creep onto his face he bent down, pinched the coin in between his fingertips then shoved the precious treasure into his front pocket. There was no better feeling than money in your hands to a kid who had spent most of his life struggling to get a piece of bread at night money gave him a sense of power, accomplishment. A man could do anything with cash, he might be a poor news kid today but with a few grand he could control the entire city. And wasn't that a thought?

He ran his fingers over the coin one last time then began to pad down the snowy New York Street. It was already dark now and the streets, alleyways and buildings were barely visible hidden behind dark shadows of the Manhattan nights. He made his way in silence to the tumble down two story brick apartment that made up the New's Boys Lodging House. For five long years he had called the place home sure it's thin cots, sometimes odd tenets and despicable smell was no first class hotel but he had been through a lot there, his first smoke, first best friend and even the infimous newsboy strike. Sure it might be rough being a Newsie but hey at least it was homey.

He kissed the blessed doorframe for luck then slipped inside feeling warmth rise from his feet to his chest. Bless old Smith for keeping the fires running until all the Newsies came home. It certainly came in handy when you came in late half frozen.

"Ey Patty boy."

Turning he met the hard grey eyes of no other than Jack "Cowboy" Kelly. He allowed a smile then extended his hand letting the other boy grip it and give it a hardy shake.

"What's going on Paddy boy?" Jack said releasing his hand then nodding in his general direction. "Out with the girls again?"

He wished. It had been a solid week since he had any female attention and frankly it felt like being in a dessert without a canteen of water.

"Couldn't sell those damn papes that's why."

"Excuses excuses young paddy. Bet you ya got a girl knocked up I do."

"Ah shut it."

He seemed to get the messages and shrunk back , two hands lifted in the air in surrender. He smiled again nodding in Patrick's direction then to the long winding staircase that led to the News boys sleeping space.

"Well glad you came in, Pat. If ya don't mind I'll hit the sack. You coming too?"

"Na I'll warm up by the fire for awhile."

"All right. Oh by the way Happy birthday kid, eighteen right?"

"Yup and thanks."

His friend smiled again then made his way up the staircase. When he was sure Jack was behind closed doors he made his way to the old stone fireplace then sat down cross legged in front of the flames.

It was his birthday today well the one he chose to celebrate that is. Truly he had turned eighteen two months ago but today marked the truly important date, when he had finally ran away from that miserable excuse of a home and made a life for himself. He hadn't looked back since that day five years ago when he had fled that tiny rat filled tenement and made a life for himself. Being a Newsie wasn't top dog by any means but anything was better than his old life. There was nothing to miss back then.

Well there was one thing.

Reaching into his pocket he fumbled around for the old leather bound photograph he had carried around for the last five years. Finally he found it then ran his fingers along the crumpled edges.

His Rosaleen. His sweet little redheaded Rosaleen who couldn't be no older than nine when this photograph was taken. She would be past sixteen now he thought, almost a woman. She truly was the only thing he could possibly miss from the hell hole that had raised him (so much in so that she had been the only person who he hadn't cut out of the family photo in his hand). It was just too bad that he had to leave her there. He had never quite forgiven himself for leaving his poor helpless defenceless little sister to that monster.

He shoved the photograph back in his pocket then bit down on his lip until it bled. Time again he had tried to forgive himself to put the past and his little sister behind him but he never could. The little helpless girl who he had left for the slaughter would never leave him.

Never.

His sweet innocent Rosaleen.


	4. Chapter 4

Giving her leg one final last high kick Rosaleen Magee slipped out from the line of her fellow chorus girls, listening to the echo of applause. Heaving a breath of fresh air she forced a smile readjusting the top of her blue scoop necked form fitting frock. All though it had been an accidental gesture the applaud grew causing a sudden cloud of heat rise to her cheeks. No matter how many times she danced chorus the fact that she was dressed in nothing more than a skirted knee length corset and a pair of high heels never became completely normal. It didn't bother her as much as it first had, in fact the first time she had seen said 'clothing' she had slapped the brothel owner in the face, sure it wasn't moral or anything dancing around in practically your underwear but hey what paid the bills paid the she waited for the curtains to close she let her eyes skim the packed theater. It was mostly men tonight which considering the nights theme was 'girls girls girls bare it all' wasn't all too surprising. A few smiled in her direction which she replied with a sheepish grin of her own then imedentily lowered her gaze to the stage's floor. All though burlesque dancing wasn't the most scholarly of occupations it had taught her a few things and one of those things was not to meet a man's eyes too long unless you wanted to be harassed on your walk home.

Finally the curtains closed blocking her view from all her 'lovely customers'. While the other girls turned to begin their chatter she made her way her to the dressing room imdenteily working at her corset's tightly fastened laces.

The door swung open inviting in a tall blond haired show girl.

"Need any help?"

She nodded allowing the other girl to weave the strings through the garment's metal holes. "Thanks my next show's on in ten minutes."

"Strip or singing?"

"Singing for tonight."

She felt her muscles ease as the third string of the corset was untied finally allowing her to fully breathe. "And I don't strip. I tap dance."

"You start off in a pretty little shin length dress and end up in your slip."

It covered almost as much as a regular dress and was perfectly decent besides it's not as if she rid of her clothes in front of the crowd she took off her clothes behind the stage but she didn't feel like arguing today so instead she just shrugged slipping her arms out of the dancing costume.

"You doing a show Lana?"

The pretty blond shook her head finally freeing her from the last bound tie. "I'm done for tonight. Going home to see my man too."

"Ooh Charlie?" Rosaleen cooed stepping out of the corset then gliding a blue sequined gown over her head.

"Mike."

She bit back a grin. It was hard to keep track of the plethora of Lana's _man friends _ all though slightly entertaining. The woman truly was a champ at keeping a man's attention something that kept her free of an empty purse.

When she had the dress over her head she adjusted the fabric so the hem lined up with her curved hips. All though she hated how her hair looked like up she gathered the red curly strands then twisted it into a high loose bun. Her face looked even more pale now she thought and without hair to hide behind her large 'Magee' nose and Irish freckles were even more prominent. Oh well no one could see her too well if she was on stage and she supposed if she was pretty enough to be hired no one would boo her off stage tonight-who was she kidding this had to be her fifty act, if she was going to be booed off stage it would have happened a long time ago.

"You know." Lana sighed resting one hand on her barely visible hip. "You should think about getting yourself a _friend_."

"A _friend _or a sweetheart?"

"Whatever one gets you out of that lousey apartment with that step father of yours."

The same stepfather who had no idea that she performed in the nightclub who would introduce her to this bill paying sweetheart. Not that she would ever do such a thing to begin with, all though Rosaleen had little experience with men who weren't sitting in theater seats clapping when she managed a high kick, there would be no way she would ever make herself dependent on one. There would be no way she would make the mistake of her mother.

"I can do that on my very own thank you very much."

"How long have you worked here?"

"Two years."

"A man with full pockets could get you out of here in six months."

A man could also keep you tied down for the rest of your life and she of all people knew that. So what if she had to scrounge and crawl her way up to the top, Rosaleen Magee would never be in debt to anyone.

She shrugged her shoulders to her friend's statement then once again began to play with the collar of her dress. "Or I could just work harder, get a third job and make my own way in life." She sighed. "I won't be my Mother, Lana. She used a man to get ahead now look at her. Tied down to that sick ba- bugger for the rest of her life, having to do whatever he says just because he's the one who controls the purse strings. No thank you."

This seemed to shut her up and soon the blond had turned on her heel making her way towards the dressing room door.

"Think about it."

When her friend left she took one last glance at herself in the mirror. She wished she could wipe off some of the makeup she had piled on herself this evening but she knew she was as good as fired if she did. She felt like a doll sometimes, prettied up, played with to entertain men who acted like children then thrown away when they got tired of her. Oh well...what paid the bills paid the bills and she didn't need no one doing it for her.

* * *

><p>Is this what heaven looked like? Dozens of girls dressed in barely nothing but their undergarments, dancing to music and moves that would be deemed truly scandalous in the outside world. To Spot Collon there truly was no better paradise than the <em>Rouge Dagger Lodge<em> located aproxmenitly three minutes out of Hell's Kitchen. There a beggar could feel elevated to the status of a noble from one look from a pretty blond and the King of Brooklyn could truly feel worthy of his title.

Yes a show girl 's lodge as a good place to be for a man who wanted to feel important and Spot Collon was big on importance.

"And now With Cuddle Up A Little Closer Lovey Mine, it's the fiery Irish Rose Burke!"

As the curtains opened a pretty redhead soon came into view. She was good enough he supposed with a pale round face accentued with hot red blush and a body that wasn't slim but not fat either. Pink lips curled into a smile that seemed to be aimed solely at him as she made her way to the front of the stage.

_Cuddle up a little closer oh lovey mine..._

Huh good singer he thought, she didn't sing in the high operatic style that most people strive for but rather a slower lower tone. Much easier on the ears he thought.

A blue fan that matched her gown blocked most of her face still and he couldn't help but feel oddly curious.

_cuddle up and be my clinging vine._

She was coming down the stage steps now making her way into the crowd, much to the delight of the men. She seemed to make her way past their grabbing hands and slacked jaws with the gracefulness of a queen, her hips swayed to the slow sensual song coming from her lips , hypnotizing anyone who came in their path. Yet it wasn't sensual the way she was doing this but rather, oddly ladylike. The redheaded Irish vixen was making her way closer to him now, smile still hidden behind her fan. Before he knew it she had made her way behind him placing two small gloved hands on his shoulders.

_Like to feel your cheek so rosy  
>Like to make you comfy cozy<br>Cause I love from head to tosey  
>Lovey, lovey Mine<em>

He felt his chest get tight, this singing Irish vixen as she had been described very well knew what she was doing and unfourtently he was falling for it like a bass to a baited hook. Smiling she rounded his chair then slowly sat down on his lap flashing him a prize winning grin. She was even more beautiful close up he thought, all though slightly over make upped. Her face was rounder than it looked from the stage promising health and a certain childlike ruddiness. He urged to touch those lush red curls that were pulled up in a high ladylike bun but thought against it. He was already enthralled enough touching her might make him do something he regretted, like kiss those dark red painted lips.

As if reading his mind she reached for the clip that confined her hair and let the auburn tendrils fall down her shoulders like a waterfall on fire. Ever so slowly she leaned in closing the space between his yearning lips.

He leaned in closer loosing himself to the Irish girl's spell. Her hand snuck up his thigh then eased its way into his pocket ever so gradually pulling out his...wallet.

She came to her feet once again grinning, full womanly hips swayed in a rhythmic hypnotizing motion making her way back up to the stage. She had played him the little bugger. So easily and with so much class that it made him doubt his own street smarts.

That sneaky devil.

He rather liked devils though.

* * *

><p>Sighing to herself Rosaleen Magee closed the back door of the <em>Rouge Dagger Lodge<em> then readjusted the loose strand of red hair that had fallen over her shoulder. She couldn't describe the beauty of winter nights, the light dusting of white snow that covered the cobblestone streets like icing sugar on top of a cracked cake, the cold nipping breeze that bit at your cheeks and the dark looming sky that stretched far beyond her Manhattan slum holding thousands of magnificent white burning stars that were hidden behind the countless city street lights. Perhaps she was a dreamer for romanticising the season that most described as a frigid hell on earth but when your life consisted of having me gawk at you when you paraded around in nothing more than your slip, it was nice to imagine a little romance in something.

She made her way down the street corner humming the song she had sung tonight under her breath.

"Cuddle up a little closer..."

Hitching a quick gasp Rose turned meeting a pair of intense grey eyes, intense grey eyes that attached to a short muscular teenage male body. The same teenage male body whose lap she had sat on tonight.

The boy smiled taking a step away from the ally wall he was leaning against. Still not losing his grin he extended a grubby large hand.

"Names Spot, Spot Collon. But most people call me the king of Brooklyn."

Great just great, another bigheaded cap wearing kid who thought he could get with a showgirl after she paid him a little attention during one of her acts. She should have known better than to flirt with him so much during that song but she had known that the wallet trick would work and with a desperate will to get out of her Step Father's house she had decided the risk would be worth the extra cash. She supposed she would have to live with the consequences now. Oh well she had plenty of experience fighting off men like this walletless Casanova, all she had to do was throw a few punches until she managed to get home.

She could manage that.

She continued her gate pretending she hadn't even heard his pompous catcall. However he continued to follow her, resting a sturdy hand on her elbow.

"Remember me?"

"Can't say I do."

"Remember my wallet?"

She rolled her eyes freeing her arm from his grasp. "Oh _that_."

"I don't care keep it." His grin grew nearly touching his ears. "I'm the head News Boy down in Brooklyn. I don't need da few lousy pennies that were in there."

The few lousy pennies had chalked up to be five whole dollars but hey who was she to judge a Newsie's apparently expandable income. She walked even faster now and could tell that he was finding it hard to keep up mostly due to that bum left legged limp he had about him.

"Leave me alone will you?"

He shook his head genteelly tapping her left leg with a long black gold headed cane. "Why don't you keep good to that song you sung to me?"

"Oh you're original."

"I try ta be."

If he wasn't harassing her in a dark secluded allyway she would have to admit he was semi charming. His catcalls didn't have a demanding harsh undertone to them like most of the men who stopped her after hours but rather an attractive boyish teasing. Not that she would fall for it by any means during her two years as a burlesque girl Rosaleen had learned the hard way that there was only one thing a man was after when he talked to you in such a way. However it was slightly amiable to not have a man whistle and call you degrading names during this late night courting call.

She allowed the boy a smile then turned down the street that would lead her to her parent's tenement. "Listen 'king of Brooklyn' I don't work the afterhours if you know what I'm saying so why don't you just beat it?"

"Calm yourself goily just wanted ta talk."

"Oh is that what they're calling it nowadays?" She rolled her eyes digging her hands deeper into her coat pocket. "I'll say it once again and I mean it this time. Leave. Me. Alone."

"Hey just trying to play nice."

"Play nice or take me for a walk around the block?"

And she didn't mean street wise.

"Well if you insist." The Casanova shrugged. "Come on give me a chance. Nice sort of guy I am."

"Is it your wallet you want?" She reached into her pocket then pulled out the leather clutch. Aggressively (letting the young rake know she meant business) she shoved the wallet into his hand. "Because that's the only thing you're getting tonight."

"Ah shame that is." He ran his hand against the smooth black leather then tucked it behind the lapel of his oversized ratty sports jacket. "I might have got da the name da king from selling papes but I assure you the ladies agree for a completely different reason."

"Well why don't you go find them then?"

She was almost home now and for once she couldn't wait. Usually coming home to the drunken lug she had for an excuse of a step father was a fate she tried to avoid but tonight she would make an exception.

"I assure you they would come running but however..." He bit his lip showcasing his boyish charm. "Redheads are a rarity and I can't help but like a little spice in my life."

On cue he attempted to grab one of her loose copper curls but she jerked back using the opportunity to propel her hand into the air and deliver a firm quick blow to his cheek. The self proclaimed king imedentily recoiled grabbing the assaulted flesh letting out a pathetic whimper. She couldn't help but grin now making her way away from the now withering hot shot.

And that's how it was done.


	5. Chapter 5

The docks always sent a volt through Patrick Magee. The chorus of laungues and laughter of men leaving home and finding home in the land where streets were paved with gold. Cultures mixed here, women dressed in brightly colored saris walked alongside Irish men dressed in bowler hats.

"Extra extra read all about it!"

The bitterness of sea invaded his mouth leaving a salty bile on his tongue. His throat burned more because of it but he tried to remind himself that the more he yelled the more papers he would sell and the quicker he could leave.

He was taken back to another moment at the docks. He had only been nine years old at the time but the memory still ran fresh through his mind. He often thought about the fateful day when he had first set foot on American soil, it truly had been the turning point in his life. Perhaps the day when he could truly pinpoint when everything had started to go dead wrong. He could still feel his little sister's hand clutched into his as they made their way through the busy crowd of foreign Americans, eyes burning from finally looking into the sun after two weeks of being stuck inside the steerage compartments of the ship that had brought them to the land of dreams from Ireland. She had been so eager then, so happy and carefree despite their dear old Da passing on only six months before. That had probably been the last time he had seen that look from her, her lighthearted untameable spirit had been drained after Ma had married Thomas. He used to say he would do anything to get that Rosaleen back but now he would settle with any version of his little sister. Or even just to know if she was alive.

Letting his eyes skim around the dock he caught a young girl out of the corner of his eye. She was pretty enough he thought. With long black hair plaited behind her head and stunning dark brown eyes. She was tan in complexion but not dark enough to have Hispanic heritage, she was more than pretty enough, she was gorgeous.

Suddenly the tanned beauty turned nodding at the bearded man she had been talking to then making her way towards him. His gut clenched. During his eighteen years Patrick Magee had met plenty of girls, he had even kissed a few but never had he got such a heart pounding feeling as he did as this black haired beauty slowly made her way towards him.

"Hell lo." Her voice was thick with Italian accent and her English too shaky to belong to someone who had been in the country long to perfect it. Was she an immigrant? He wondered.

He felt his body shiver. He had gone insane, his mouth had ran dry and he was unable to make words.

"I-"

She pointed to the stack of Newspapers at his feet.

Oh she wanted to buy a paper! Nervously he stooped down picking up a pristine white paper package. "Here you go, five cents."

With a knowing smile she reached into the deep dish pocket of her striped apron then placed a silver nickle in his open palm. When he passed her the paper she let her eyes skim the title then raised an excited grin to his face.

"Learn to read."

"Learn to-oh..."

She nodded again. "You read?"

"Yes."

Not very well but he wasn't about to admit that.

"Goot."

And with that she turned on her heal and made her way through the crowd, leaving Patrick feeling like he had just been ran over by a five horse carriage.

What had just happened there? He had only spoke three sentences to the girl and her accent had been to thick to understand half of them but yet he now felt like he had never felt before. His whole body had been taken over a cool shiver that rendered him paralyzed.

Bloody hell what had she done to him?


	6. Chapter 6

Sighing to herself Rosaleen Magee eased her hand onto the brass door knob of the wooden tenement door. Every inch of her body ached after working her thirteen hour shift at the textile factory, every muscle every nerve screamed out in pain with every move she made making the sixteen year old feel like an old crippled woman. You would think you would get used to leaning over the machinery to fix broken threads after six years but it still hadn't been the case. Rather the more she did it the more her body ached. It had been so easy when she had been little, she could climb on top of the mule barely bend over to tie the broken thread then hoped back off again with the ease of a professional gymnast but it was so much harder now that she was bigger, her hands sometimes barely missed the spinning gears and her wider feet made keeping her balance. Plus after years of seeing what could happen if you faltered and got stuck in the machinery had left her with a fear that made the job a lot more nerve racking then it had been as a giddy fearless eleven year old.

Biting back the pain she twisted the door knob open stepping into the tenement apartment. She could already smell the left overs of Ma's Irish stew and her stomach growled. She hadn't got supper last night and was utterly famished. Before she could make her way across the room she was stopped by a heavy hand to her shoulder.

"Lass."

Heaving a sigh she turned around meeting the coal black eyes of her step father. She should have known she couldn't expect a nice relaxing evening at home not when Bartholomew was there that was.

"Bart."

"It's Daddy my pet..."

Ha, the day she called him Daddy would be a cold day in the place where he came from, hell.

"Not until you actually marry my Mother which considering it's been six years since you accosted her I highly doubt we have a good chance of that."

He chuckled, voice full of malice. "Always were a smart mouthed one you were." He eyed her clenched hand raising a nod in her direction. "Friday it is."

She reached into her pocket pulling out brown paper pay packet then shoved it into the obese man's chest. Greedily he snatched the envelope from her hand then ripped open the seal beginning to count each silver coin as if they were fine jewels.

"Not hiding any from me are you?"

She shook her head then proceeded to make her way to the section of the one roomed apartment what her mother had made into a makeshift kitchen. He watched her as she ate, dark eyes traveling from her spoon then to her lips with every bite.

Finally he cleared his throat stepping towards her. "Left your bed last night you did."

Her back ran cold.

He took another step towards her, large hairy lips curling into a malicious grin. "And came home awful early in the morning."

She truly was a dead woman if her step father found out about her job at the Red dagger lodge. It wasn't the fact that his step daughter was demoralizing herself as a burlesque dancer in front of hundreds of men a night that would anger Bart but rather the extra cash she hid from him. Like the pay packet she had bestowed on him just a few moments prior her hard earned money from her shows would go straight to his liquor fund.

"I-I don't know what you're talking about..."

"I heard you get up."

Damn it she knew she had made too much noise when she had stubbed her toe on his beer bottle.

"I had to use to lavatory."

"With your lover?"

She heaved a sigh of relief. He had no idea about her burlesque job. All though her taking a lover probably wasn't high on his wish list at least he wouldn't try to steal any of her money.

"Aye you guessed it, I snuck away in the middle of the night to be with my handsome Italian lover."

He seized her by the shoulders now grabbing a clump of her curly red hair then pulling the copper curls to his nose. He heaved in sigh inhaling her scent. "Still can smell the booze on you."

"Well I can also smell booze on you to so..."

Her comment deserved a slap and her head reeled. Pain now radiated along the whole left side of her face and her scalp where he had pulled her hair. She bit back a sob as blood trickled down the ac ousted area and into her mouth. She wouldn't give him the satisfaction of seeing her cry. She never would.

He dropped her hair letting the ginger curls fall back onto her shoulder blades. She didn't need to look up to know that he was grinning, seeing her wither in pain always brought joy to her step father's perverted heart.

"I thought you would learn that your smart mouth never pays off by now."

Weakly she nodded. Biting back another wave of pain.

He grabbed her by her wrists then forced her to her feet. With a grunt he pulled her body into his chest making her seep in the scent of cigarettes and cheap beer. "He paying you?" He snarled, yellowed crooked teethe brushing against her ear lobe. "How much money does he pay for you to whore yourself to him?"

"I'm-I'm not whoring myself..."

She was going to cry now the pain mixed with his icy control over her was starting to take over her will for vengeance. Hitching a breath she bit down on her lip willing to focus on that instead.

"My arse you aren't." He pulled her even tighter sending a painful blast throughout her arm. "If you've got any money that you're hiding from me I swear to God I'll-"

"I don't!"

He must have believed her for some reason and suddenly released her arms causing Rosaleen to stumble. The saltiness of her tears and the copper taste of her blood mixed in her mouth leaving an awful bile. Her stomach had twisted it's self into knots from the bitter taste or fear she wasn't quite sure.

"You better not be." He pressed his lips together then frowned. "Now leave me alone."

She did so without a thought making her way to the small curtained off section of the apartment that acted as her bedroom. When she was sure that he couldn't hear her she let out a sob plopping down onto the thin straw mattress. When she had collected herself enough that she wasn't sobbing like a baby, she rolled up her petticoats to her knees then removed a silver flask from under her garter.

Popping open the cap she slowly removed a five dollar bill. How Bart would anger if he found out she had over one hundred dollars stashed away right here in this little whisky flask. He would make what he had done to her today look like a slap on the wrist if he ever found out about her little stash but there was a pride and satisfaction knowing that she held something that irked him so.

She would use this money to escape some day, buy the old Paterson house in Brooklyn and turn it into her own Bed and Breakfast just like how she had read about it those magazines. How Bart would squirm seeing her rich and famous completely independent of him. She would come back one day, when he was old man dying in his own bed and flaunt her good fortune, make him sorry that he had ever treated her or her mother in this way.

Made her loose her own brother.

"Rose?"

Gasping she shoved the flash underneath her quilt then raised her gaze to the woman standing not three feet away from her.

"M-Ma..."

The woman nodded slipping into her makeshift bedroom. "May I come in?"

Truthfully she wanted no part of the woman at a time like this but she nodded just the same.

Her Mother had been a great beauty once with vibrant red hair that matched her own and green eyes that had been able to make any man come to their knees. But years abused by men and drowning her sorrows in liquor had done a number on the woman. Her face was pale and long showcasing nearly a decade of pain and suffering, a robust healthy body that had successfully bore two children had now withered away to a skeleton of saggy skin and protruding bones. Her hair had turned a mousy brown grey now and well her eyes, let's just say that they showed a lot of pain and suffering too.

The woman made her way to the mattress then sat down beside her daughter heaving a sigh.

"Did did he hit you again?"

Rosaleen didn't know why she needed to ask that, of course he had hit her, she was practically gushing out blood besides it wasn't exactly a rare occurrence.

"Yeah."

"I'm sorry."

She shrugged. "Not like you slapped me."

Dull eyes cast down focusing hard on the wooden floor. "You mustn't be mad at him for it, Rosie."

Here they went again, the esxuses and cheap lies. It had almost become routine during the nine years they had lived in America. Ma would find a man friend, give him her heart and soul and when he used her children as his own personal punching bag she would somehow find a way to justify it.

That was almost worst then being hit, Rosaleen thought.

"I mustn't?"

"I-you know he has a temper and it's just hard for him to control. He doesn't mean to take it out on us."

There was about a million things she wanted to scream but she clamped her mouth shut. There was no use fighting with Ma anymore long ago the woman had sold her soul to Bart and there was no way of returning it.

She shrugged again forcing her eyes to focus on a crack in the wall. "Yeah I know Ma, I know that because he drinks and hits us we have to take it lying down because somehow it's all our fault."

"No-it's no one's fault. It's just his nature."

"It doesn't make it right."

"He's given us so much..." The woman took her hand giving it a long hard motherly squeeze. "A home and a family, we have to focus on that."

"This isn't a family!" She hadn't meant to loose her temper but didn't find herself feeling bad for it either. "Da and Patrick were our family. They didn't hit us or control us, they loved us. Unlike him-or any of the men you've been with since Da died."

Tears had now started to build in her Mother's eyes. "Rosaleen Mary Magee don't you dare say his name."

"Da or Patrick?"

"Both I-" She sobbed, flat chest convulsing. "It's nay my fault that they're gone."

"I know that but-do you really think they'd want us to be with him?"

"I've done my best since you're Father's died. Do you think it's been easy for me?"

She could never stand to see her Mother cry. Letting her chest sag she forced her gaze to her Mother's.

"I'm sorry Ma I-I know it's not. I've just had a bad day that's all..."

A bad nine years truthfully.

Her mother sighed wiping away a trail of tears from her cheek. "Bartholomew loves us, he just has his own way of showing it."

"I know."

She ran her hand along the flask hidden underneath the blanket. Just one hundred more dollars and she'd be out of here, away from Bart and away from her Mother. She would be free then, free for the rest of her life.

"May I be alone now?" She asked.

"Of course..."

She fell asleep soon after that, perhaps because of her long day at factory or perhaps to drown out the crippling pain she was feeling throughout her entire soul. It wasn't long until she woken up again-this time to the sound of yelling.

"Don't disobey me Mary. Have I not given you everything?"

"I-" Her mother hitched a sob. "But she's only a child."

"She's near seventeen, she's plenty old enough."

They were talking about her? Her mother and Bart fought a lot but very rarely about her. Sure she knew that he had a general disdain for her but she was usually too quiet to cause much of a stir. What had he meant by she was too young?

"What if she becomes with child?"

With child?

"Her husband will take care of it."

Her husband! She sprang up from bed snapping her head into attention. She didn't have a husband nor was she planning on ever getting one-he couldn't possibly suggesting to...marry her off?

Her mother sighed letting out another sob. "Who?"

"George Dolands. I've done business with him for years He's promising a heavy bride price for her and he's a decent enough man."

"George." She paused. "He's old enough to be her father."

Her grandfather... Her gut clenched. Out of all the tricky conniving low things for Bart to do this was the worst. She always knew that her step father was a wicked man but to marry off a sixteen year old girl to some old grip keeper. Decent enough man her foot, the only thing her lousy esxuse for a surrogate dad cared about was the man's full pockets.

Well she wouldn't have any part of that. Tucking her flash back under her garter Rosaleen slowly came to her feet being careful not to make a noise. She would rather die than marry the man Bart had chosen for her, even rather run away...

As she made her way to the fire escape window she heard another sob escape her mother's lips.

"Please don't make her Bart-she's my baby and after Patrick-"

"He chose his lot in life. Besides I'm doing this for her. He'll provide for her."

"She's the only thing I have left."

She paused-was her mother actually going to stand up to Bart. For once in her life stand her ground and do what was best for her children? She couldn't help but allow a grin now.

"Have I not given you everything. A house, food, love?"

Ha love all right. The only thing Bart loved was control.

"I-"

"Exactly." Her step father sighed setting something down against the table. "I hate when you second guesses me Marie."

"She's my daughter."

"And I'm your man. I've already made the deal."

"But-"

"Shut up!"

Silence again followed by another sob.

So Ma wasn't going to do this.

Her own mother would let her get married to a grip keeper who she had only met once in her life.

Her own mother would pick a man who abused her over her own daughter.

Perhaps it wouldn't be so bad to run away. So what if she couldn't afford her bed and breakfast yet, living on the streets would be better than being married to Bart's pick for her future husband. Patrick had done it along with many other kids before him. It might not be the best situation but at least she would be free. Yet leave her Mother, what would happen to her if she left? Then again it wasn't like the woman had made any exceptional efforts to protect her during her sixteen years...

Ever so slowly she eased her hand onto the window sill slowly pulling it open. This was it now, once she climbed out this window she would be gone. No more Bart or petty excuses. Today would be the start of her new life...

Could she handle that?

Then again if the alternative was a new life tied down to a sixty year old man...

Sighing she swung her leg out the window closing her eyes and never looking back.


End file.
